Beaten (Sherlock & Irene)
Chapter 1
He woke up slowly, realising at once that he wasn't where he'd fallen asleep, in his bedroom, but in his armchair, his wrists, legs and torso bound expertly, to the chair, restricting him to only move his head. Sherlock made something between a noise of incredulity and exasperation at his predicament, only to notice a familiar scent of perfume. A mixture of roses and…was that chocolate?
He saw her at once. He wasn't really surprised. The Woman. The Woman. Standing in the doorway of his bedroom in his purple shirt, smirking. She was only wearing it to irritate him, they both knew that.
"Sleep well, my dear?" she walked around so she was opposite him. Staring into those pale eyes.
"Like a baby" Sherlock retorted disinterestedly. He wasn't about to let her beat him again. They were both playing to win in this game.
He tried to read the carefully modelled features on her face. Nothing. Surely her makeup would tell him something about her purposes. Maybe her usual complex hairstyle? Still nothing. It was obvious Irene had prepared for this. There was no makeup and her hair fell freely down past her shoulders in dark, shiny locks.
It was no use. All previous attempts had failed and this was no different. She hadn't broken eye contact with him the whole time. It was obvious that she was also trying to see past his own mask. Had she found something? Surely not… However impressive her intellect might be he heavily doubted that she possessed the same deductive skills he did. Besides he knew her biggest weakness, which she was making no attempt to cover up this time…
Sherlock frowned slightly. What was she doing now? She can't read my weaknesses can she? No. Sherlock Holmes doesn't suffer from the trivial faults other people do. Does he?
He quickly put this, uncomfortable thought, out of his mind.
Sherlock didn't bother to ask how she'd somehow tied him to a chair without him noticing, especially as he had been several feet away, in his bed. He's come to the conclusion after their first encounter that, however hard he tried, he would never be able to "solve" Irene Adler. This in mind, he finally broke the silence.
"Are you going to untie me?" he regretted the question immediately. She never did anything without a reason and he'd also just lost their mini battle of silence, something Sherlock, being as stubborn as he was, felt was more important than being tied up. Although she irritated him, he was intrigued by her. Even now, wearing nothing, he assumed, but his shirt, she still wore the look of, well, him. A mask-like superiority which was unbeatable. Or so it seemed.
Their eyes were locked, neither of them squinting in the early morning light. Both of them holding their own barriers against the normal emotions that normal people show off everyday in their normal lives. Nothing was normal about the two people alone in the room. Nothing at all. So who would be the first to speak?
Unfortunately for Sherlock it did not immediately come to that.
Irene slapped him hard across the face, briefly reminding him of their fist meeting.
"Look at those cheekbones. I could cut myself slapping those cheekbones. Would you like me to try?"
It hurt but he wouldn't let it show and Sherlock felt she had held back slightly, not that this comforted him.